


when you're talking about love (woo)

by Ester



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, POV Third Person, lee chan is a good person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27354403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ester/pseuds/Ester
Summary: “I saw you looking at the cup. It was a gift from my boyfriend, Jeonghan. He dressed up as Harley Quinn for Halloween years ago and won’t let anyone forget about it.”“That’s nice,” Chan settles on saying. In all honestly, the picture’s not very good quality. He can barely make out a face. Maybe that’s what camera phone quality was like when Choi Seungcheol was in college, somewhere between five and fifteen years ago. Chan’s not great with ages. But Choi Seungcheol’s face shifts into something so tender and fond looking at the mug that Chan knows it’s important to him. He’ll have to try and find a mug that’ll make him as happy at work, too. “How long have you been together?” he asks, mostly because he doesn’t want to go back to his desk. Choi Seungcheol’s eyes brighten.// Chan has a good boss and a terrible neighbour.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 37
Kudos: 203





	when you're talking about love (woo)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notspring](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notspring/gifts).



> this is SO stupid and for my lovely notspring who deserves more dino.

Chan clicks closed a spreadsheet and stretches his arms as high as they will reach. It’s six in the evening and he’s done a hard day’s work, but he knows that home and takeaway dinner are still a pipedream. At his position as a junior associate, fresh from school and wet behind the ears, there’s no chance he can leave yet. Choi Seungcheol, his direct supervisor, is still busy at work in his own cramped office, across the sea of open cubicles, and even though Choi Seungcheol is a modern, approachable boss, nowhere near the horror stories they used to pass on in university about supervisors who’d make the interns sleep in the office bathrooms and be at the desk at sunrise, he’s still Chan’s superior. He can’t leave before Choi Seungcheol decides to call it a night – which he usually does around half-past seven. That’s practically early, if Chan’s former classmates, who’ve ended up at various conglomerates across the city, are to be believed.

Nevertheless, Chan’s eyes are starting to droop. He’s been trying to limit his coffee intake, but he allows himself a treat as a reward for work well done, and heads for the coffee station situated, strategically, right by his boss’s office. He doesn’t have a personal mug at the office– he’s only been there for a few weeks and doesn’t feel like he’s earned it quite yet, still reeling from being hired so fresh out of school. Half of him is trying to get used to having a legitimate place of employment, where he goes every day and does his job independently and gets actual, real-life money for his efforts, instead of grades. Half of him thinks that any day now, someone’s going to come up to him and tell him that there’s been an error and that actually, he didn’t pass a compulsory statistics class and he has to do all of university over again to make up for it.

So, he doesn’t have his own mug and picks a plain white Ikea one instead, the top-heavy kind with a handle too small to fit two fingers through. He’ll definitely choose something better, someday, when putting on a tie in the morning stops feeling the same as putting on a Naruto headband for Halloween did.

“I saw you sent the Jung files already,” a deep voice speaks over his shoulder. Chan does not flinch, but it’s close, “Good work, Chan.”

“Thank you, Mr. Choi,” Chan nods, taking a courteous half-step back to allow Choi Seungcheol better access to the coffee pot. Seungcheol has a personal coffee mug, obviously. Chan tries not to gawk, but it’s one of those print-your-own-picture ones with a grainy photograph of someone blond and smiling, with hair dip-dyed in two colours.

“Call me Seungcheol, honestly. I’m not saying that to be cool or whatever, it makes me feel very old,” Choi Seungcheol laughs, a little embarrassed, “Jeonghan,” he says then, inexplicably, lifting up his mug.

“Excuse me?” Chan frowns and glances furtively around like maybe there’s someone approaching. It’s just them and Jeon Wonwoo in the furthest corner of the open office, who’s not even trying to pretend like he isn’t browsing Reddit. Choi Seungcheol laughs a little, but it’s a kind laugh.

“I saw you looking at the cup. It was a gift from my boyfriend, Jeonghan. He dressed up as Harley Quinn for Halloween years ago and won’t let anyone forget about it.”

“That’s nice,” Chan settles on saying. In all honestly, the picture’s not very good quality. He can barely make out a face. Maybe that’s what camera phone quality was like when Choi Seungcheol was in college, somewhere between five and fifteen years ago. Chan’s not great with ages. But Choi Seungcheol’s face shifts into something so tender and fond looking at the mug that Chan knows it’s important to him. He’ll have to try and find a mug that’ll make him as happy at work, too. “How long have you been together?” he asks, mostly because he doesn’t want to go back to his desk. Choi Seungcheol’s eyes brighten.

In the span of ten minutes, Lee Chan learns everything he needs to know about Yoon Jeonghan and a lot extra. Apparently, he and Choi Seungcheol met in university and have been together for seven years. Jeonghan majored in biochemistry and is working at a drug research company. Jeonghan’s favourite colour is blue, he’s good at sports, he’s the funniest, cleverest, sweetest, kindest, most wonderful person Choi Seungcheol or anyone has ever known. He can do real magic. The last one Chan extrapolated from the flood of praise. But it’s sweet, it really is. Choi Seungcheol, who’s never mean or rude but can be demanding and exacting, even imposing, when he’s focusing hard on something, visibly melts as he tells Chan anecdote after anecdote. It seems Jeonghan is learning to cook and is improving rapidly; he made them dinner the other night and Choi Seungcheol guessed just from looking at it that it was chicken.

“Sorry, I’m talking your ear off,” Choi Seungcheol says, finally, when he pauses long enough to take a breath and his brain clearly catches up to him. He makes a show of looking at the wall clock and gestures mercifully at Chan. “I think it’s time we close up here. Go home – you did good work today. The rest can wait until the morning.”

Chan thinks that maybe he should play at offering to stay, to work overtime, to prove his commitment to the job. He doesn’t. He nods, wishes his boss a good night, and puts his emptied mug into the dishwasher. He thinks, privately, that Choi Seungcheol spoke so much about this love of his life – direct quote – that he wants to go home early, too. Chan makes a mental note of that. It’s not that he’s looking for ways to skive off work in the future, but it’s also good to have a few tricks stored for cases of emergency.

By the time Chan makes it home to his small studio at a building he can barely afford, the fire alarm next apartment over is going off again. There are thumps and cursing through the paper-thin wall, as the world’s shittiest chef and neighbour bangs at the alarm unit with something before silence falls. Chan knows better than to lull himself into a feeling of security. The fire alarm has gone off every night for the past two weeks, sometimes even thrice a night. Whoever lives there should probably take a hint and stop trying, but of course they won’t, because they are the world’s worst person and too busy ruining Chan’s scant free hours at home with their various nonsenses to consider the people around them.

Chan orders dinner like a reasonable person, who’s not trying to commit arson, follows along to a nice soothing yoga video and falls asleep to the faint smell of acrid burning.

*

The world’s worst neighbour has dark, chin-length hair, and an evil face. Chan thinks that if he were feeling more charitable and not in the process of catching the world’s worst neighbour doing trash crimes red-handed, he’d call him handsome. The features on his face are fine and delicate, but they are marred, he thinks, by the clearly soul-deep deviance. Who, apart from a villain, would be cramming boxes full of old magazines and newspapers into the cardboard recycling at seven in the morning? 

“That’s not where that goes,” Chan tells him because there is nothing else to say. Paper doesn’t belong in cardboard recycling. A child would know that. Cardboard belongs in the cardboard recycling, like the grocery delivery box Chan is holding, neatly flattened out and all. It’s not that hard.

“Ehh,” the world’s worst neighbour shrugs, gesturing rapidly at the paper recycling, full to the brim, “It’s close enough, right? Paper, cardboard? It’s all trees in the end. I have to get rid of so much stuff, isn’t it better that it goes somewhere that’s not the curb?” There’s something about the set of the man’s mouth, slightly curved up in amusement that makes Chan feel insane. It’s obvious he’s not taking him seriously. As if there’s something funny about environmental awareness.

“Whatever,” Chan sighs and throws his own flattened box in the bin, turning around to leave. He’s already running late to work; he doesn’t have the time for this.

“Aww, come on! I promise when you get to my age, you’ll have had to move enough times that you’ll be leaving washing machines on the fire escape like the rest of us,” the world’s worst neighbour calls out to his retreating back, laughter in his voice. Chan feels himself make a face at nothing and tries to smooth out his expression, tamps down the urge to shout something back about whether he has another dinner to ruin. Even if the world’s worst trash person can’t see him, he won’t give him the satisfaction.

When Chan makes it into the office, he’s not late, but nor is he early, as he’d prefer to be. The boss – Chan can’t bring himself to think of Choi Seungcheol as simply Seungcheol, no matter how many times his boss asks him to address him as such – is in an incandescently good mood and doesn’t comment on Chan’s late-for-his-standards arrival. Chan didn’t realise a person’s face could look like sunlight, but Choi Seungcheol is beaming it across the whole floor. It’s genuinely nice for the morning, bearable for the afternoon, but by the time the sun sets and they’re still plucking away at their keyboards, while Choi Seungcheol texts on his phone with hearts in his eyes, Chan’s patience and good-will is starting to fray.

“I think Seungcheol’s pregnant,” Kwon Soonyoung muses, apropos of nothing, as they hover around the watercooler. Chan chokes on his sip. He’s Chan’s senior and Chan knows he’s actual friends with Choi Seungcheol, but it still feels wildly inappropriate. There’s a watercooler right there next to them, this is as professional as a setting gets. “Jesus, kid. Watch out,” Soonyoung laughs and pats Chan on the back, ebullient and bracing. “I’m just kidding,” he adds as if he’s worried Chan might take him seriously, “He’s moving in together with his – partner.”

There’s a look people get, a tone they use when they’re not sure about the level of shared knowledge. Soonyoung would be a terrible poker player – he could’ve said ‘ _gay lover_ ’ and it would’ve been less suspicious than the halting pause and the scrutinizing look he gives Chan as if to say “you better be cool with this.” Chan doesn’t feel the need to explain to Soonyoung that he’s kissed more boys than girls in his life and just nods, instead.

“Yeah, he’s told me a lot about Jeonghan,” Chan says and Soonyoung relaxes visibly, gets an approving look to his eyes. Chan doesn’t love the part of him that preens at that, but he’s also not in the habit of lying to himself. “Don’t they live together already then? I thought they’ve been dating for ages.”

“Oh, they have been,” Soonyoung sighs, flapping a hand like he’s chasing away a fly, “Too long, honestly. If you think it’s tiring witnessing Seungcheol act like this for a day at work, try knowing them both for a decade. Being their friend is exhausting.”

“It’s nice that people are happy,” Chan says and immediately feels like an idiot. Soonyoung glances over Chan’s shoulder towards Seungcheol’s office and smiles, warm and a little wistful. There are years of memories in that smile. Stories and moments that Chan will never be privy to, that he tries not to envy.

“Yeah, it is.”

*

It’s not actually nice that people are happy, Chan decides at three in the morning when he wakes up to a gut-clenching moan from the other side of his studio wall. There’s a steady, thumping, creaking sound, unmistakable to anyone who’s ever had to share student accommodation. The world’s worst neighbour is either fucking someone’s brains out or getting his own guts rearranged, and Chan viscerally hates either option. He considers screaming, but refrains, only because it would sink him to their level. If he has nothing else, he will cling onto the moral high ground of being a considerate apartment-dweller.

The noise goes on for so long Chan is reluctantly impressed by their stamina. He could probably even find it in himself to be happy for whoever’s getting the dicking of their life if it weren’t cutting so severely into Chan’s self-mandated seven hours of sleep. He has to be up in three. Finally, there’s a faltering of the pace and a higher, keening whine that tapers off into blessed silence. Chan rolls over onto his stomach, buries his face into the cool side of his pillow, and ignores whatever his own dick is doing.

In the morning, as a treat, he lets his blender run for ten seconds more than it needs to liquefy his smoothie, right up against the wall separating him from the worst person on earth, and he takes great pleasure in each second. After he’s poured his drink, he considers taking up an actual hobby. In the privacy of his home, bathed in the pale early morning light, he can admit that he is, possibly, spending a little too much time on his elaborate mindscape of neighbourly revenge. Maybe he should start jogging again, it’d be a better use of his energy.

Chan eats his breakfast, takes a shower, dresses in his neat suit and packs his satchel. He goes through his daily checklist – tablet, phone, cardholder, keys, water bottle, good pen, metro pass – and steps out his door into the hallway and directly in front of Choi Seungcheol, carrying a huge box.

“What,” Chan says, flatly. His boss blinks, startled. He looks different outside the office. Younger. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and sweats. His boss is _jacked_. Chan considers walking backward right back into his apartment. “I mean, shit. I mean, uh. Good morning?”

“Morning,” his boss, Choi Seungcheol, smiles and nods, hefting the box in his arms a little higher, “Funny I’ve never run into you here until now. Last chance, I guess.”

“Yeah. What,” Chan says. Proper intonation is failing him.

“Moving day!” Choi Seungcheol practically chirps, gesturing with his head at the box, “Well, not for me, for –“

“Yoon Jeonghan,” Chan says, not so much to - rather _at_ \- the world’s worst neighbour, who walks through the open front door of his hellhole villain’s lair of an apartment and looks mildly surprised and extremely amused to be greeted by name.

“Hello, neighbour!” he grins and comes up to Choi Seungcheol, curling a hand at the crook of his arm and gesturing between Chan and him, “Do you know each other?”

“This is Chan, we work together,” his boss tells Jeonghan. His voice goes so soft and lilting. Chan thinks it’s a very generous way of expressing that Chan works for him – Chan, who has been waging a quiet war against the apple of his boss’s eye. Chan, who’s now heard his boss have sex. Chan, who will, very soon, not be working for Seungcheol anymore, because he will sink through the floor and be dead forever.

“Ah,” Jeonghan nods knowingly. He squeezes Chan’s boss’s jacked arm, caresses up his bicep, and lays his cheek gently against Chan’s boss’s extremely defined deltoid. Chan’s going to pass out any second. Jeonghan’s eyes are glinting with delight. “So, Chan, are you in charge of office recycling?”


End file.
